


All the Love Hidden Beneath

by QuillsAndInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bath Time, Canon-Typical Violences, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Injury, Love Confession, M/M, Short, Sweet, cas/dean, dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19394533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillsAndInk/pseuds/QuillsAndInk
Summary: When Cas suffers an injury during a hunt, Dean must help him heal. What ensues after an unconventional bath time may just change both their lives.





	All the Love Hidden Beneath

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to my amazing artist Pherryt! It was an absolute pleasure to work with them, even it was for a quick pinch hit. Go check out the rest of their art, it’s awesome!

Witches fucking  _ sucked _ .

Dean had been hunting for at least thirty of his forty years and he had never found an opponent that made him cringe as much. For one, witches were just plain gross. Who in their right mind would want to fuck around with hair, and nail clippings, and blood? Dean stifled a gag just  _ thinking _ about hex bags. Vomit and blood and shit. Yeah. No thanks. 

For two, witches nearly always left some lingering issue long after they’d been ganked. Somehow, killing the sons of bitches never seemed to stop the effects of their spells and Dean and Sam would have to contact another witch to get the spell gone for good.  _ Yuck _ . 

Besides, witches always seemed to be able to get one of those stupid spells in. Always. They were crafty, Dean had to give them that, but their craftiness certainly made for a whole hell of a lot of heartache for him. 

This witch hunt had been worse than most. This witch seemed like the garden variety. Disgusting bitch dealing in body and creating spells of a grimoire that Rowena wouldn’t have even batted an eyelash at. Average level of vengefulness (she had caused an ex-boyfriend’s heart to explode from his chest), check. Dean was sure this was just as run of the mill as a witch hunt could be. Goddamn, he hated when he was wrong.

They hadn’t counted on Cas having a weakness. Since Jack had brought him back fully charged up with grace, Dean was sure he was the least of their problems. As it turned out, this particular witch was more batshit insane the average one. She had perfected a spell to attempt to steal angel grace straight from the source. When they found her, she started chanting and Cas’s eyes had widened in horror and damnit, what was Dean supposed to do? He raised his gun and fired without hesitation. The witch died instantly, choking on the last of the spell before she could do anymore freaky shit to Cas. Dean tucked his gun back into its holster and instantly searched to find Sam. Sam was completely fine, not counting a few scrapes he’d received from the witch shoving him against some old bottles that broke under his moose weight. 

Sam was  _ staring _ at a spot next to Dean that should have been occupied by Cas. Dean furrowed his brow and quietly reached for the gun again. Maybe he’d been too hasty in putting it away.  _ Damn witches _ . Couldn’t there be just one of them for once? Dean slowly turned to the left. Raising his gun with a casual menace he’d practiced since he was ten years old. But what he saw beside him made the gun slip from his fingers entirely. Cas was standing there, deadpan as ever, but sprouting from his back were his wings. His  _ wings _ . Not the shadow of them Dean always saw. No heavenly light giving the impression of feathers on the wall behind him. Nope. Just two, very real and very corporeal wings that were black as shadow. Black as sin. Dean stared. 

“Perhaps we could head back to the bunker,” Cas suggested tightly. His eyes were pinched into an annoyed glare that he leveled at both Sam and Dean each in kind. It made Dean’s heart pound in his chest with feelings he wasn’t ready to deal with just yet. The base of the wings were matted with silvery-white that dripped gently onto the floor. 

“Cas, buddy, your uh—” Dean began.

“Yes.” Cas cut him off, lips thinning into a scowl. 

“Your wings,” Sam breathed. 

“I can’t remove them from sight just now,” Cas said vexedly. “I’m sure I can angle them to fit in the car. Shall we?” His voice was rough and Dean critically eyed the small pools of grace beneath his wings. 

“Why can’t you heal yourself?” He demanded warily. Castiel sighed.

“I am. There’s too much damage to do so quickly. My healing will take time.”

“Fuck,” Dean said. He rubbed his chin and mouth with his hand. 

“Fuck,” Cas agreed. 

“C’mon,” Sam said. His eyes were still wide and reverent, just like a child’s on Christmas morning. “We should get back to the bunker and figure out what to do.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Let’s go.”

Leaving was far from simple. Cas had to bend and twist his massive wings at terribly awkward angles to have a hope at getting them inside the Impala. The bleeding of grace started up like a tap and soon Dean’s interior was glowing with it. Dean stifled a groan. It wasn’t like Cas could help it and it wasn’t going to be a fun eight hours back to Kansas if the uncomfortable grimace on his face was any indication. Luckily, Cas has learned the Winchester way of making not complaining into an art form and Dean had to actually ask him for updates. The wounds were closing, scabbing, then being torn open at every other jolt in the road. Dean’s seats were a mess of grace. Castiel’s feathers were absolutely matted with it. His clothes were coated in it and sweat slicked his forehead.

Dean could help but empathize. He’s been injured many a time and he had never had angel mojo to make it better. That was, until Cas. Sitting in the back seat in abject misery, Dean could think of nothing more he would like to do that hold Cas close. His feelings has steadily grown for Cas, not that Cas was ever the wiser. It was just one of those things. There was too much chance to fuck things up if he talked to Cas. Much better to lock it up. So he tightened his fingers on the steering wheel and drove onward through the night. 

It was mid morning when they got to the bunker. Sam has been able to catch a few hours sleep and was groggy as he stumbled out of the Impala. 

“You good?” He asked Dean. He raised his arms and stretched his long body in an attempt to wake himself. Dean shook his head. He gave Sam’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Yeah. Go sleep, Sammy,” he said. Sam nodded slowly, then stumbled off to find his bed.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said. He turned around to find the Cas has already managed to extract himself from the Impala. The bleeding has started afresh and small drips of grace slipped steadily from his wings to the floor. They drooped from Cas’s back and tugged his shoulders down with them. He looked perfectly doleful. 

“Are you gonna bleed out?” Dean asked. Cas’s lips thinned again. His eyes became blue slits. 

“Angels don’t  _ bleed out _ ,” he said, his voice rough with pain and disuse, “not like this. I’m replenishing grace just as fast as I lose it, but that’s all I’m able to do. I’m too weak to heal myself just yet.”

“Well, it probably doesn’t help that you’ve got a tap on you,” Dean pointed out. He grasped Cas’s shoulder firmly and carefully guided him Cas.“Let’s get you cleaned up, buddy.” 

Cas blinked as they stepped out into the sunlight. Dean snooped around the perimeter of the bunker until he found a barrel that seemed like it would hold water and an old hose. He dragged them back over to where Cas was standing. With the sunlight in his dark hair and spilling over his darker wings, Cas was a vision. A bee drifted lazily through the weeds at his feet and Cas watched with a warm smile and gentle fascination. He was beautiful, Dean thought. Beautiful enough to live and die for. Beautiful enough to make Dean completely unworthy of his own feelings. 

“Uh, come on, Cas,” Dean said as if he hadn’t been staring at his best friend. “I got you a tub, or a makeshift one. Go ahead and clean up and I’ll get us some breakfast.”

“Do really believe I can groom my own wings as injured as they are?” Cas asked, voice growly. 

“I mean…” Dean trailed off. He stood and stared at Cas who stared ferociously right back. 

“I can’t even bring them around my body,” Cas snapped. Dean have to physically take a step back from the venom that dripped from his tone. 

“I could help,” Dean blurted. It took a fully thirty seconds before his brain caught up with his words. A flush crawler duo his neck. Had he really just offered to give Cas a bath? Cas eyed him warily. 

“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” he said slowly. 

“Well you said you can’t do it yourself, right? I could...I mean I could…”

“It’s an intimate thing, grooming wings,” Cas said softly. “It’s the most sensitive part of an angel. It requires great trust. Only the closest of angels groom each other.”

Dean swallowed thickly. What had he gotten himself into? “Are you saying you don’t want my help?”

“You should understand what you’re asking to do. What it’ll mean to mean to me,” Cas said carefully. 

“Dude, it’s just a bath, right? Cleaning wounds, just guys being guys,” Dean tried and failed to keep his uncertainty from his voice. 

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Cas said. He seemed...a little disappointed? That couldn’t be right.

“No, no, hey, Cas,” Dean said. “I can help you out!” Dean turned the hose on and started filling the barrel. He tested the water with his fingers.The sun had warmed the rubber so the water wasn’t freezing, just cool and Dean thought that would feel nice on Cas’s wings. “It’s ready, buddy, strip and get in,” Dean said with an awkward grin. Cas obediently did so, carefully tearing away his shirt and jacket where the wings had burst through and began bleeding. He winced as he peeled his clothes off and they jostled his wings. Once his coat and shirt were off, he stared sadly at them in the grass. Dean tried his best not to ogle Cas’s bare chest. He had an interesting freckle above his nipple and Dean couldn’t help but stare and wonder what it would be like to his Cas there. To kiss Cas anywhere.

“I’ll fix the coat once I’ve healed,” Castiel said quietly, more to himself than Dean. He undid his belt. Dean swallowed around a lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. Cas pushed his pants down, and bent over to undo his shoes. He rose to stand unsteady on one foot, then the other, as he pulled off his socks. Dean watched with interest as his wings flared slightly and unconsciously to help him balance. Cas hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his boxers and  _ nope _ . Nope. Dean was not ready for that one.

“Cas, uh, you can keep those on,” Dean said weakly. 

“Dean,” Cas said flatly, “I’m filthy and I don’t have the grace to clean myself. My genitals must be bathed as well.” He sounded as though he was talking to a child. Well, it worked. Dean felt like a moron for suggesting he  _ not _ get naked in a in an impromptu bath. It was a bath, for fuck’s sake. 

“Well, you, uhm, go ahead and get in. I’ll go get soap?” Dean offered. Castiel’s nodded. He gave Dean an unsure look that was absolutely adorable.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said and Dean bustled away to the bunker. He trotted to the bathroom and got into Sam’s stash of soap he thought Dean didn’t know about. There was a whole corner of the closet dedicated to shampoos and conditioners and other girly shit. Dean made a mental note to tease Sam about it later. He bit his lip and reached for the tropical fruit body wash. Dean suspiciously popped the cap and took a whiff. It smelled saccharine sweet and filled the air with some unnameable fruit that probably didn’t exist in real life but it made Dean’s mouth water. The thought of that smell on Cas was alarmingly alluring. Especially on his wings. God. Jesus fuck. Dean took the soap and went back outside to help Cas...groom or whatever. 

Cas was sitting cross-legged in the tub. He looked up when Dean approached. He still looked a little apprehensive. 

“Are you sure you want to do this Dean? This is intimate,” Cas said. Dean shrugged, trying to cover up nervousness. 

“You’re my friend. I got this,” Dean said. Trying to brace both Cas and himself.

“ _ Dean _ ,” Cas said. A worried little furrow appeared between his brows. Dean wanted desperately to smooth it with his thumb. “Dean, wing grooming is most often something that mates do.”  _ What _ ? Dean’s stomach did a funny little freefall. 

“Oh,” he said. Because what was he supposed to say?  _ ‘Cas, I’ve been in love with you in secret for years. It’s fine!’ _ Yeah, that’d go over well. 

“I understand if you don’t want to help. I just wanted you to know,” Cas said, a little desperation in his voice.

“I can help. I mean, it’s us, right? We’re close and stuff. We’ve been in weirder situations,” Dean said with what he hoped sounded like confidence. Cas visibly relaxed. Dean’s anxiety ratcheted up a few degrees

“Thank you,” Cas said. 

“So uh, I guess I’ll start?” Dean said. Cas nodded. Dean squirted the soap into his hands and rubbed them together lather going. Then he reached for the glossy black wings. They felt warm. Almost startlingly warm, list Cas’s own skin. Over warm. Angel hot. And the feathers were silky soft and smooth. The ridge of bone along the top of the wings felt sturdy. Illimitable. Cas’s wings dropped. Cas sighed. Dean swallowed. He began to work soap into the wings in earnest. The feathers swallows his hands in a sea of soft blackness. Dean bit off a moan. It was just so warm and safe with his hands in Castiel’s wings. Dean wanted to kiss the bones, bury his face in the feathers. Sleep with them around him.

“Dean,” Cas murmured. 

“Am I hurting you?” Dean asked, suddenly alarmed. He hadn't even gotten near the wound yet. He carefully adjusted a feather to lay straight like all the others 

“No,” Cas said. His voice came out as a boneless purr, all grit and sunshine. “That feels wonderful.”

Dean put some experimental pressure on the meat of the outer wing and Cas outright moaned. It was all Dean could do to keep from kissing him. He carefully worked soap into the feathers. Castiel’s wingspan was absolutely huge and it took Dean nearly an hour to finish one wing. He was careful as he got to the base of the wings where the injuries lay. Dean gently cleaned them, wincing every time Cas hissed in discomfort. 

“Sorry, it’ll only take a second,” Dean said.

“I know,” Cas said. “Thank you.”

It took another hour to soap up Cas’s wings entirely. The dark feathers still looked matted, but with soap instead of grace. Dean heaved a silent sigh of relief. Now at least, Cas could start working on fixing the injuries.

“So, uh, the rest of you still needs cleaning…” Dean trailed off. Cas’s lips quirked.

“I think I can manage that,” he said dryly. And he was absolutely right. He could. Cas had been human before. He could clean himself. It was just that Dean was getting used to the pleasured sighs and the happy rolls of shoulders and the smell of the soap mixing with the dying star scent of Cas’s grace. 

“Have you ever had your hair washed by someone?” Dean blurted out before he could think better of it.

“No,” Cas said. He reached for the soap bottle and Dean gave it to him, heartbroken. Cas squirted some in his palm, then surprisingly, handed it back to Dean. Dean took it and with great joy and relief and sadness that this may be his only chance to do this, Dean poured out some sweet smelling soap and began to lather it in Cas’s hair. Cas groaned.

“This is amazing,” he declared. 

“Right?” Dean agreed. They fell silent, just enjoying the repetitive motions of washing Cas. Love welled up in Dean’s chest over and over. This is all he wanted. To care for Cas, to love him. He just wished Cas knew.

“Dean?” Cas asked. Dean could hear his bit lip. 

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I’m sorry.”

Dean startled. “What for?”

“I...I know what we’re doing is probably crossing a boundary. I know you don’t feel the same as I do. I’m sorry. You must be so uncomfortable,” Cas explained.

“Wait, Cas, slow down. Feel the same as you do?”

Cas sighed heavily. “I love you Dean.” Dean almost fell backwards. 

“What?” He asked. Castiel’s shoulders drew up haughtily. Dean winced at how it must have tugged at the wounds on his wings.

“Dean, you don’t have to feel what I do, but don’t you  _ dare _ make fun of me for it,” Cas growled, every bit the commander of armies of angels. Dean shuddered pleasantly. Cas was hot when he was pissed. 

“Woah, Cas,” Dean said. He came around to face Cas and was taken aback by his fierce scowl, but he’d been waiting for this moment for years. Eons. Time seemed longer when you were pining, and Dean would not let Cas fuck this up for them. “I love you too, dumbass.”

Cas blinked. Then smiled. It was a small smile, barely a ghost of one really, but Dean knew what it meant. There were no fireworks to signal to the world. But there was Cas, all coated in soap and smiling a private smile that was for Dean alone. 

Dean couldn’t help it. 

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas’s. It was a warm first kiss. A chaste one. A promise of what would come later. Castiel smelled of dying stars and bottled lighting and tropical fruit soap. His lips were as warm as his wings. 

“We’re idiots,” Castiel said. Dean nodded. He nuzzled his nose against Castiel’s.

“But we have a lot of time to make up for it.”

“We do. Let’s not waste it,” Cas said. He leaned in for another kiss. Dean indulged him. Best worst injury ever. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr: @quillsandink-writes
> 
> Liked this fic? Commissions are OPEN. Information can be found at: https://quillsandink.wixsite.com/quillsandink


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